


Hold Me Like an Animal

by orphened



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, fairy tale AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-21 00:06:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9521933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphened/pseuds/orphened
Summary: Stay out of the Northern Woods, it’s said.There’s a monster that lives in there.Fairy King, Der Erlkönig,and whispered quieter for being true,Reaper. He comes at night to steal away your children, and if they will not go willingly, you’ll wake to find them stone cold in their beds.Reaper will do you grievous harm.Jack has heard it all. He isn’t so naive as to dismiss it as an old wives’ tale, stays out of the woods like the rest of the children in the village. But he’s foolish enough--when his father’s hand cracks across his face for the second time that night--to wonder why the Reaper has never come for him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **Edit:** Holy crap this blew up fast!! I promise I'll respond to all your comments individually, but in the meantime, thank you so much for all the kind reviews!!
> 
> Wanted to get this up for Reaper76 week, but alas, work got in the way. D: Here it is, a little late!
> 
> **Heavy inspiration drawn from Angela Carter's short story The Erl-King, which is amazing!

_ Stay out of the Northern Woods _ , it’s said.  _ There’s a monster that lives in there. _

_ Fairy King _ ,  _ Der Erlkönig _ , and whispered quieter for being true,  _ Reaper _ . He comes at night to steal away your children, and if they will not go willingly, you’ll wake to find them stone cold in their beds.

_ Reaper will do you grievous harm _ .

Jack has heard it all. He isn’t so naive as to dismiss it as an old wives’ tale, stays out of the woods like the rest of the children in the village. But he’s foolish enough--when his father’s hand cracks across his face for the second time that night--to wonder why the Reaper has never come for him. 

\--

It’s the end of summer and the sun has bleached Jack’s hair the same shade of gold as the wheat crop. Their father’s been drinking again and so Jack lingers on the outskirts of the village as the afternoon sun starts to fade into twilight, unwilling to go home after he’s finished with the harvest. Lena and Jesse, only six and nine, are tucked away in a neighbor’s house. And besides, it’s never them that he wants to hit. Just Jack--for looking too much like his mother, perhaps. Or maybe because he’s old enough now--all of nineteen years--that the village doesn’t seem to mind a black eye or split lip.

For whatever reason, it has Jack stalking the edge of the northern woods, weighing its dangers with those that he faces at home. When he had been younger, he and a few other children had made a game of it--running as far as they could into the woods before they became too scared and had to turn back.  Now, he sees the thin deer trail that winds its way between the trees and wonders what he would find if he dared go further.

His father’s bellowed, “ _ Jack _ !” decides for him. He ducks into the treeline, thinking he is old enough now to know where the real dangers are.

At the end of summer twilight can last for hours as the sun lingers on the western edge of the horizon. In the woods there is a hushed stillness as the creatures of the day settle into their burrows and those of the night begin to emerge. The whole forest seems to hold its breath in anticipation of  _ something _ , and Jack shivers despite the heat. There is the distinct feeling--the prickling on the back of his neck, the tautness of his spine--that something is watching him. 

A thrush breaks out of the underbrush, startling him. It seems to break the silence in the woods, and Jack can hear other birds now, calling to each other as the light begins to fade. He looks back and sees the village, still easy to find between the trees. Nothing to fear.

He follows the bird calls, weaving between the trees on a path that sometimes vanishes, only to reappear a little ways off. The light is truly fading now and Jack begins to think that he’s made a mistake. The trees have closed up around him and he can no longer see the village between the branches. Still, something tugs him further in: a high sound that echoes around him and seems to blend with the cries of the birds. Just as his last shred of common sense is about to win out, he sees a light through the trees. The dim glow of a lantern.

The path releases him into a meadow, splashed red with the last rays of the sun and the warm light of a lantern hanging from a cabin door. 

Waiting for him is the Reaper.

Jack freezes at the edge of the woods. It’s too late to run back now, even if he could navigate the strange woods at night. There is no question of who it is before him. Despite the rather ordinary looking cabin, the rest of the meadow is something out of a fairy tale. The dying light of the sun illuminates the eccentric flock--from finches to owls--that fills the branches of the surrounding trees. The souls of the stolen children, it’s said. Their calls have grown quieter since Jack set foot in the meadow, and he realizes that the odd sound was never a bird to begin with.

The Reaper is whistling, a high thin note, like a bird call. Luring him here like a stupid dove. It cuts off, task complete, and Jack shivers, curses his own idiocy. His only salvation--he is too old for the Reaper to take him. He can feel the Reaper’s burning eyes on him, though he can’t see its face behind the bone-like mask that it wears. A dark cloak with a hood, despite the summer heat, disguises the rest of its features.

“What-” it comes out barely more than a whisper. Jack refuses to tremble. “What do you want with me?”

The Reaper laughs, and it comes out like a rasp. It reaches up with a clawed hand to pry away the mask, and sweep back its hood. Underneath, is a man. Dark skin is oddly mottled with gray, and black curls hang just below his ears. His eyes burn a deep red, like hot coals. They are dizzying to look at.

“I invited you here, of course.” The man--is it really a man?--smiles dangerously, revealing sharp teeth. He is curiously handsome, but Jack supposes the devil would be too. Still, it’s wildly disarming. “You want something, don’t you? A child taken away, perhaps?” 

“N-No.” Jack chokes, flushing a bright red. “I don’t have any children. I only. I just wanted--”

The man raises an eyebrow.

“--To see what was in the woods,” Jack finishes, feeling immature and foolish. 

His answer is met with a long, assessing stare. The Reaper’s eyes seem to catch on his face, where--he remembers now--there is a half-healed bruise from his father blooming over his cheekbone. It makes him blush harder and he looks away, feeling embarrassed. 

Finally, the man steps back with a soft hum. “Would you… like to come in?” He gestures toward the cabin, so out of place in this odd scene.

Jack jerks, feels as though he’s been released from a spell. “No,” he gasps, inexplicably out of breath. “I mean, I really think I should be getting home.” 

The Reaper offers him another sharp grin. “Of course. It is late, after all.” He draws his hood back up, and replaces the mask. To his horror, Jack finds he is unable to move as the man strides towards him, then gathers him up in an embrace. He tries to call out, but a curious sort of cold engulfs him, and then he is overtaken by the sensation of falling through  _ nothingness _ \--

He wakes to find himself alone back in the village, just at the edge of the woods, and doesn’t know what to think anymore. 

\--

There’s an old man at the tavern, one who refers to the Reaper only as  _ Der Erlkönig _ , whether from superstition or habit. Jack’s heard his father talk about him before--”just a crazy old drunk” (as though he himself was not one)--and so he waits until his father leaves on another hunting trip to go and seek him out.

He’s easy to find. An old soldier, and still massive even without any armor, he stands out from the other regulars that Jack has seen before. Despite his father’s apparent distaste for the man, he is quite friendly and welcoming, introducing himself as Reinhardt and offering to get Jack a beer. 

Jack smiles and turns him down politely. “I just had a question, about the Reaper,” he starts, then stops suddenly as the other man chokes on his drink, foam gathering in his mustache.

“Mein Gott, boy, are you insane?” He coughs, and looks around, but the other patrons don’t appear to be interested. Lowering his voice conspiratorially, he continues, “You’re not planning on looking for him, are you?”

Jack flushes. “O-Of course not.” He’s not sure what he wants, other than...

“Did he used to be human?” The question jumps out of his mouth, unbidden. He grinds his teeth together and grimaces.

Reinhardt seems to consider this. “Perhaps. A long time ago.” He shakes his head, and his gaze seems to bore into Jack. “But not anymore. He’s more wraith than man now, you understand, boy?” 

Jack nods, remembering the cold rush of nothing around him. But he thinks also of soft looking black curls and a gentle invitation to come inside.

Foolish, of course. Every fairy tale warns about  _ that _ .

He thanks the old soldier and rises, excusing himself to look after Lena and Jesse, who have been left alone too long as it is.

“Jack.” He pauses and looks back. Reinhardt’s expression is sober and tense. “Do not look him in the eyes. They will eat you, and then your soul will be his.”

Jack shudders.  _ Eyes that will eat you alive _ . He doesn’t doubt that.

\--

A week later, Jack’s father returns from his hunting trip empty-handed and reeking of alcohol. Jack quickly sends Jesse and Lena out, turns from the door to catch his father’s swing with his jaw. He grunts, endures the smattering of curses, and waits for his father to collapse into bed before breathing out again.

He goes to the neighbors to make sure Jesse and Lena can stay there, then finds himself lingering outside when he is done. He watches the northern treeline, jaw tense and tender.

This time, as he steps into the wood, he is greeted by a raven. It gives a harsh cry then takes off, only to settle on another branch further in, watching expectantly. Jack takes a deep breath, looks at the village once more, and heads in.

The Reaper is whittling on a bench outside of his cabin, cloak and mask absent, and doesn’t look up as Jack steps into the clearing. “Ah, the farm boy.” He sounds vaguely surprised, but Jack is smart enough to spot the raven perched among the rest of the flock. It cocks its head at him, betraying nothing.

“Ah… hello,” he manages, feeling awkward.  _ What was he doing here _ ?

The man finally looks up from his whittling, and his eyes catch on the bruise no doubt forming on Jack’s jaw. Jack flushes, turning away to scan the meadow, illuminated by the afternoon sun. He remembers not to look at the man’s eyes.

There’s a long pause, and then, “Something I can help you with, farm boy?” There’s a certain tone to it, almost like teasing. Jack glances back to see the man smirking. 

“It’s--Jack.” 

“Jack,” he murmurs, lips curving up around the name in a way that makes Jack’s spine tingle. He swallows, takes another step into the meadow, then another when the other man makes no move to discourage him. He comes to a stop in front of the bench, then carefully seats himself next to the other man when offered. 

“Jack,” it comes out like a purr. He can feel the heat of the Reaper’s body beside his own. “Is there a reason that you won’t look me in the eye?” 

He flushes, but manages to say, “Isn’t there a reason I shouldn’t?” 

The Reaper chuckles. “Fair point. However--” Jack feels a touch at his jaw, soft and cool against the tender spot there, and looks up to see the man watching him with something like amusement in his features. The Reaper’s eyes are a deep red, and Jack has that sensation of falling again, just for a moment, before he is jarred back by the thumb brushing over his lower lip. He tastes blood, and thinks that his father’s strike must have split it.

“What if I would like to see your eyes?” The man murmurs, and his thumb comes to rest at the corner of his mouth. Jack swallows hard, and leans forward.

“What did they call you,” he whispers, shivering at the sensation of the Reaper’s fingers running over his cheek. “Before, I mean.” It's the question that's haunted him the last few nights, the one that drove him here again when everything else recoiled at the idea. 

There is a long pause, in which the Reaper seems to consider him a bit differently, and then, “Gabriel.” Lightly accented, and spoken softly. Jack thinks, head already hopelessly muddled, that it is the most beautiful name in the world.

It slips out before he can stop it. “Like the angel?” 

The Reaper--Gabriel--laughs, dark and gravelly. His breath ghosts over Jack’s mouth. “No, not anymore. In fact,” he has leaned so far forward that his lips brush against Jack’s, making him shudder. “I’m far from it.”

Jack is having trouble avoiding Gabriel’s eyes, which seem to burn like embers. He thinks he can feel their heat burning him up. Finally, he can’t take it, and pushes forward that last, bare amount to press his mouth firmly against Gabriel’s. It elicits a sigh, deep and satisfied, and he feels the Reaper’s lips curl into a grin against his.

This time, when he is invited inside, he follows.

\--

Against all sense, he goes back the next night. And the next. 

Each time, he is greeted by a different member of the flock, watching him with dark, liquid eyes. He follows them through the woods, drawn by the Reaper--by  _ Gabriel’s _ whistling summons. And each time he arrives in that otherworldly meadow, Gabriel awaits him, lips curled into a smirk and eyes searing into him. Jack tries to remember-- _ those eyes will eat you alive _ \--but each time Gabriel greets him, he seems to forget. 

And Gabriel is so  _ good  _ at making him forget. Jack’s had enough hurried tumbles with the village boys to know what he likes, but Gabriel seems to have a knack for bringing him to the edge and holding him there until he forgets even his own name, can do nothing but twist underneath him and plead for release. 

The fourth evening he sets out, Jack snares a rabbit on his way. His guide tonight--a falcon--watches only with detached interest, and Jack remembers that it's not a predator, not really. He wonders what sort of soul is trapped in that body and then looks away, embarrassed. 

Gabriel raises an eyebrow at the rabbit when Jack arrives, and Jack feels the tips of his ears burn. “I only thought--” He stumbles, inexplicably shy. “We could have dinner.” Perhaps--the thought springs sharply to his mind--he is asking too much of this. Not to mention the part of his brain that reminds him he is  _ prey  _ still urging caution.

But something seems to soften in the Reaper’s face. Jack watches as several emotions seem to war for control, and then the familiar smirk settles into place. “You going to make me dinner, farm boy?”

Coming from anyone else, the jab might have rankled. Jack smiles at the Reaper and laughs. “Yeah.”

He cooks a stew, using herbs hung to dry from the rafters, and when Gabriel sidles in next to him to sample it, his brows raise in surprise. “Not bad, güero.” 

Jack laughs. “I cook a lot, for--” But he cuts himself off, the sharp reminder of who (or  _ what _ ) he is with tipping his world sideways for a moment. He recovers quickly, trying to smile. “For my father.” No, he will not mention his siblings, still too young and vulnerable to everything that Gabriel could choose to do. He will not mention them in front of the Reaper. 

Gabriel watches him, eyes glittering, but says nothing. He takes another mouthful of stew.

\--

In late autumn, Jack spends the last of the warm afternoons gathering mushrooms and picking apples. Gabriel accompanies him, pointing out which types of mushrooms are poisonous, what type of apple is best used for baking or eaten fresh. Some of the livelier members of Gabriel’s flock trail after them through the trees, their calls blending into the now-familiar sounds of the woods. It is startlingly ordinary, and Jack has begun to forget the warnings from the superstitious old soldier at the tavern, even when he’s safe at home.

But he still doesn’t mention the children.

When their packs are too heavy to keep looking, they collapse in the dense underbrush and pick out a few apples to eat before heading back. Gabriel produces a knife, and he carves them into slices that he gives to Jack, chasing each one with a kiss. 

“Do you kiss all the boys that you lure into the forest?” Jack teases, laughing. He does not think about the implications--he is too old to be taken by the Reaper. 

Gabriel smirks at him, red eyes flashing, and tumbles them both into a soft leaf pile. “Just the insolent ones, like you.” He dips his head to mouth at Jack’s throat, making him groan. His sharp teeth graze Jack’s pulse as he murmurs, “And only those old enough to know better.”

Later, Jack watches lazily from the bench outside the cabin as Gabriel feeds his odd flock. A mourning dove has split off from the group to preen for Jack, and let him scratch under its wing. He looks up to find Gabriel watching him with something that could be tenderness, if it was worn by another man.

“Do you--” Jack’s throat is tight. He swallows. “Do you really steal children from their beds?”

Gabriel’s mouth twists down, and he strokes a raven that is perched close by with a softness not reflected in his voice. “Of course not.” The dove flutters away from Jack, hungry now, and something like a smile curls Gabriel’s lips. It is not a kind expression. “They come to me. And only those who are unwanted, or unloved.” He meets Jack’s eyes, and if it were someone else, Jack might think he is looking for acceptance. 

But something cold slithers down Jack’s spine at the admission. It’s followed by the darker, selfish thought, the one that Jack keeps tucked down deep inside of himself-- _ why did you wait so long to find me _ ?

\--

The winter solstice is bitterly cold, but Jesse and Lena insist on playing in the freshly fallen snow. Jack bundles them in several coats and scarves and indulges them by helping build a snowman. He and Lena are working on piling the snow up, and Jesse is hunting for things to use as its features. 

“Jack!” Jesse suddenly calls, and Jack turns to find him at the edge of the woods. His blood turns to ice, freezing him in place, even as the boy shouts, “Look how far I can go in!” 

A childhood game, of course. The other children of the village still play it, too. But Jack knows what lurks out in the woods now, has memorized the feeling of its body pressed against his own.  _ Is it his imagination _ ? He can’t tell, but he sees a familiar hooded figure, face obscured by a bone-white mask, reaching for Jesse as his back is turned.

“No!” Jack roars, startling both children. Lena stumbles away from him, alarmed. Jesse freezes, staring at him with wide eyes, and Jack quickly gathers him up in his arms. The figure--if it was ever there--is gone. Jack spares the woods one last glance, then grabs Lena’s hand and ushers them both in the house. Jesse, of course, is upset that his game was ruined. He tries to sulk in their room. But Lena sees the haunted look on Jack’s face and bullies them into playing a new game inside.

Jack is only half paying attention to it, struggling to get rid of the band of iron that feels like it’s locked around his chest.  _ Stupid, stupid, stupid _ . How could he have thought that just by not mentioning them, Lena and Jesse would be safe? 

_ Because _ , the traitorous, unpleasant part of him whispers.  _ You thought that you were special _ . 

Too old to be taken by the Reaper. But what about his siblings? 

That night, Jack feels Gabriel’s presence next to him like a weight that pushes down on his chest. It’s smothering him, and for one irrational moment, Jack feels all of his breath leave his body. He’s suffocating, his lungs are  _ burning-- _

Gabriel’s voice snaps him back to the present, and he latches on desperately. “Shouldn’t you be at home, celebrating the solstice with your family?” Gabriel murmurs. He drags a heavy hand down Jack’s bare back.

Jack shivers. “My father’s on a hunting trip. Won’t be back for a few more days.” He doesn’t mention the children. He also doesn’t mention that he hopes this will be the trip that his father does not return from at all. Doesn’t want to give Gabriel the idea. He’s got to be more careful, he realizes. 

Gabriel’s hand stills on his back for a moment, and then he grunts. His hand sweeps over Jack’s hip to palm him, and Jack could sob with relief for the distraction.

Sometime in the night, Jack is roused from a shallow sleep to feel the bed dipping next to him. He sits up, calls, “Gabe?” His voice feels woolly with tiredness. 

A cool hand grips his chin, and lips press against his. He feels, more than hears, “I’ll be right back.”

Jack can make out the bone-white mask in the darkness, and even as the panic seizes his heart--not them, not them--he can feel sleep dragging at his bones, unnatural and heavy. He tries to cry out, “Where are you going?” It comes out barely more than a whisper.

“Hunting,” Gabriel says with a dark smile. His eyes seem to glow in the void. Jack feels a rush of air, smells smoke, before darkness and sleep overcome him.

\--

It’s early spring, but the nights are still cold enough that Gabriel brings his birds into the cabin at night. They roost in the rafters, making soft sounds at one another and at Gabriel and Jack. 

Jack realizes that he can’t look at them anymore, hasn’t been able to since the solstice night. He is too afraid to find someone that he knows in the flock. Instead, he busies himself with tidying the cabin, moving the last stores of firewood by the hearth, polishing the cooking knives. Anything but looking up amongst the rafters to see a flock of scared children looking back.

“How is your father doing?” Gabriel asks, lightly. Conversationally. Jack’s shoulders become even more tense.

He thinks Gabriel knows the answer exactly. His father has been different ever since that midwinter hunting trip. He watches Jack now with a haunted expression, falls over himself to get out of the room if Jack is in it. He hasn’t struck him in months.

Jack thinks that he might be satisfied with this, if he didn’t know why it was.

“Jack.” Spoken softly. Lovingly. “Look at me.”

Gabriel’s eyes are glowing brightly, and Jack finds himself distracted as he watches them.  _ Eyes that can eat you _ . He looks away, unsettled.

“Surely, Jack, you are not wanted by your father, hm?” Gabriel purrs into his ear. Jack has no reply for him. Truthfully, his father may not love him at all, but Jack is past wondering about it. He has not troubled himself with imagining his father’s thoughts for a long time. Instead, he is thinking of his conversation with Gabriel only a few months ago.  _ Of course not. They come to me. _

And: _ Only those who are unwanted _ .

“Stop going back there,” he whispers into Jack’s throat, his soft curls pressed against his cheek. “Stay here, mi vida.”

Gabriel kisses him, like so many times before, and Jack thinks--hopes--that it is only his imagination that the edges of Gabriel’s form are starting to blur. But the lips against his are cold, and when he cups Gabriel’s chin, his hand brushes against exposed bone. Jack yanks back, but a dark smoke is curling around his throat, viscous and bone-achingly cold. It smothers him, and when he chokes for air, it pours down his throat. Jack knows what it will do to him, and looks frantically to the birds perched on the rafters. Not singing; they were never singing. Even now, he can feel a numbness settling into his skin; his bones shrinking, becoming brittle--hollow.

And had he not known it from the start, from that very moment they had locked eyes in the meadow?  _ Reaper will do you grievous harm _ . 

But he had not known it would be like this. Had thought himself too old to be taken by the Reaper.  _ Had never anticipated the danger to his heart in addition to his soul. _ He is lost in the red glow of the Reaper’s eyes.

Above him, the barn owl shrieks once, jarring him. He thinks of Jesse and Lena--he cannot leave them alone, cannot let them be taken here, either. Jack heaves, hacking up dark smoke even as he scrambles to his feet and throws himself from the cabin. 

Gabe’s rumbling laughter chases him from the woods.

\--

Jack seeks out Reinhardt, still coughing cold smoke to clear it from his lungs. The man takes one look at him, then quickly hustles them into a darker corner, away from prying eyes.

“Mein Gott, boy. What have you done?”

Jack shakes his head, coughing again. He tries to be discreet, but the dark smoke seeps out from between his lips, and the old man gapes. Jack squares his shoulders, meeting his eyes. “Can it be killed?”

Reinhardt stares at him, then shakes himself. “Killed, boy? This is Der Erlkönig we’re talking about.” He laughs, a gravelly sound. “Nein, nein. Only delayed.” He pauses then, and once more his face grows serious. “And you’d best hope that when he comes back, you’re safe in your grave,  boy .”

\--

He returns home to find his father lurking by the fireside, an empty bottle by his feet. His usual caginess seems to be absent in the face of drunken stupor. Jack says nothing as he walks in the door, only watches carefully.

“Where the ‘ell you been?” his father slurs, lurching forward a step. Jack says nothing, tries to make for his room to check on Lena and Jesse, but his father steps in the way. With a quickness out of place with his drunkenness, he knocks Jack aside. He goes down hard, hitting his head on a shelf as he does. His vision sways, and he shuts his eyes with a groan.

“Get up,” his father snarls, kicking out. Jack coughs, and more black smoke leaks from his mouth.

Something inside of him is burning. It races through his veins and simmers in his bones, and Jack thinks that it will burn him up if he doesn’t do something. He pushes himself to his feet, ignoring his father’s curses, and puts a hand to his aching skull. It comes away bloody.

His father’s hand moves again, but this time Jack snatches it before he can strike, holds it steadily. “Enough.” He is surprised to find--standing straight--that he’s taller than his father now, and stronger, too. The older man’s arm quivers in his grasp, and Jack has the sudden thought:  _ What did I ever fear from this? _

“ _ What _ did you say to me?”

But before Jack can say anything more, he chokes, grip loosening as the rest of the black smoke pours from his lungs. To his horror, it coalesces into the shape of Gabriel--but not him,  _ Reaper _ . The sweeping black cloak brushes his legs as Jack falls to his knees with a strangled cry.

“I warned you, old man,” the Reaper growls from behind the horrible mask. It doesn’t sound like Gabriel, but a monster. His father is a gibbering mess, falling back against the wall with a pitiful cry. Jack coughs again, suffocating, and tries to grab Gabriel’s cloak. It feels like he is frozen, if not for the fire that is burning him up inside. He watches, helpless, scorching, as Gabriel flicks out a gesture with one clawed finger. His father jerks once, shrieking horribly, then goes limp and collapses into a heap.

Jack can do nothing as the Reaper devours his father’s soul. 

It’s a wispy little thing, the color of rust or dried blood. Gabriel grimaces as he swallows it, despite Jack’s breathy protests. Then he turns to Jack, still pinned to the floor by some unseen force, panting against the iron grip on his lungs. It lets up slightly, and Jack sucks in air, sobbing.

“What--” He manages after a few panicked breaths. “Why would you--”

“...Jack?”

He turns to find Jesse and Lena in the doorway to their room, hands clasped together. Lena has tears running down her cheeks and is trembling. Jesse’s eyes are locked on the crumpled form of their father, but as Jack watches, they slide over to Gabriel knowingly. 

And Gabriel, he  _ smiles _ , gaze flicking back to Jack before settling on the two triumphantly. “And here the children are, after all.”

Jesse scowls, moving in front of Lena. But his hands are shaking, and when Gabriel takes a step toward them, he calls out, high and scared, “Jack!”

He is ablaze. His blood is on fire, and thinks he can see smoke rising off of his skin. With a howl, he rips himself off the floor and throws all his weight at the Reaper. They both go down, tumbling and snarling at one another. Jack gets his hands around Gabriel’s throat, but he dissolves into smoke and reforms across the room. His expression is even more terrible than the mask, which rests on the floor, forgotten. 

Jack scrambles for his father’s rifle, hung over the mantle, and swings it around to Gabriel. “Get. Out.”

Gabriel watches him, face grim. “Jack-”

“Get out!” He roars, even as tears spill over his cheeks. The Reaper growls, but dissolves once more and flows from the house. Jack drops the rifle and sinks to the floor, cradling his head. In a moment, Lena and Jesse are at his side, and he holds them close. Jesse doesn’t even protest, just wipes his nose on Jack’s shirt and cries.

“Jack,” Lena hiccups. “Jack, what are we going to do?”

He feels the fire in him banking, and drops his head. “I don’t know yet.” Hugging them closer, though, he thinks he does. “But I’m going to take care of you.”

\--

In the morning, he takes his father’s rifle and heads into the woods.

There is no guide waiting for him. Instead, the forest seems to open up for him. But it is unnaturally quiet, holding its breath as Jack slips between the trees. 

In the meadow, the Reaper and his flock are waiting for him. 

Gabriel’s mask is still back at home, wrapped in layers of cloth and hidden, so Jack can see his smirk when he steps into the meadow. It makes him shiver--there is something off about it, too far removed from a human expression. More wraith than man, now.

“You’ve come back.” Not hopeful, but sure. Said matter of factly. 

Jack swallows, doesn’t think about all the nights he slept curled next to the being in front of him. “Only to say goodbye, and to warn you not to come back to the village.” 

Laughing--a horrible, grating sound--Gabriel takes a step forward and reaches for Jack. “Don’t be ridiculous. You and I both know you’ll keep coming back.” His eyes are bright red, the color of blood, and Jack shakes his head to clear it and steps away, circling. 

“No.” He struggles to keep his voice firm, looks at a spot just over Gabriel’s left shoulder. “I’m not a child, Gabriel. You can’t take me, and you can’t take--” he stumbles, unwilling to say their names. Not if it can give him any power. He presses his lips together mutinously. Gabriel growls, hands clenched so hard that they tremble.

“I saved you. I saved all of them!” He swings a clawed hand towards the flock, which scatters anxiously, only to alight a little further into the trees. Gabriel’s expression is wretched. “You owe me this.”

“I don’t owe you anything,” Jack hisses, bristling. He thinks of his father’s body crumpled on the floor of his home. “I never asked you for that. I never wanted it.” He throws his shoulders back, gestures to the flock. “They didn’t ask you to, either. You stole their lives from them.”

“I protected them,” Gabriel snarls. “More than anyone else. They begged me to help them, just like you did.” He sneers at Jack’s expression. “Oh yes, farmer boy. Or did I only imagine those fresh bruises on your face the first few times you came to me?” He laughs, then, a wicked and unpleasant sound. “You and I both know you came into my woods for a reason.”

Shame burns at Jack, but he stands his ground. “That wasn’t it.” Not all of it. It had been something far deeper than hatred for his father that had driven him back again and again. His grip on the rifle twists, but he lowers it. Gabriel pauses, watching him carefully.

“You know--” Jack grinds his teeth, frustrated as tears spill out over his cheeks. “You know why I came back.”

There is a long pause, during which neither of them speak. Jack wipes at his eyes, looking at anything besides Gabriel.

“Would it be so bad,” Gabriel murmurs at last, voice pleading. “To stay with me forever?”

_ No _ , part of Jack whispers, traitorous. The rest of him sees the gilded bars of a cage, spun from his own foolish heart. He looks back at Gabriel, meets his eyes. “ _ Yes _ ,” he gasps. He will not live like that,  _ cannot _ . Even a cage made from love would still burn him up, until there was only ash.

Gabriel snarls, black smoke hissing out of his very pores, and moves too quickly. His father’s rifle is thrown to the ground and Jack is seized by freezing black smoke. The Reaper’s clawed hands are tight around his throat, his eyes burning Jack from the inside out, and he can feel himself falling, fallingfalling _ falling _ **_falling_ ** \--

There is the shriek of an owl, and then searing agony. Claws drag across his eyes, blinding him, and he screams over the frustrated howl of the Reaper. The cold grasp around his throat is suddenly gone, and Jack falls backwards, sightless. The scent of blood is overpowering. He stumbles, falls to the ground, and feels the familiar shape of his father’s rifle under his right hand.

“Jack.” His voice is close, but Jack still jerks, startled, when Gabriel’s hand drops onto his shoulder. It grips him, but not unkindly, like before, and it takes everything he has not to lean into the touch. How easy it would be to give in now. He feels another run over his brow, just shy of his ruined eyes. There is the cold touch of smoke which makes him scream.

He scrambles to grab his father’s rifle, swings it around in front of him were he can feel Gabriel leaning down. “Don’t,” he chokes. “Don’t touch me.” 

“Jack,” Gabriel growls, and Jack thinks maybe his right eye may not be lost entirely because he can see the dim outline of the Reaper’s face scowling down at him. He has levered the end of the rifle at Gabriel’s chest, the soft core of him. “Let me help you.” 

“I don’t need your help. I never did.” Jack thinks he is crying again, but it’s hard to tell with the blood. “I wish--” That things hadn’t needed to change. That Gabriel would have been satisfied with having him as he was, for as long as he’d wanted, as long as he’d left Lena and Jesse alone. Perhaps, that he had never met the Reaper in the first place.

As if reading his thoughts, Gabriel presses forward, frantic, and the rifle nudges a little closer to where his heart might be. “Jack--”

He fires.

There is a deep sound, not unlike a sigh, followed by a rush of wings. Jack watches, blood still clouding his good eye, as the birds dissolve into smoke, then dissipate entirely. When he turns back, the Reaper is gone.

 

 

 

\--Epilogue--

It’s many years later, and Lena and Jesse are grown with families of their own in other, happier places. Jack’s hair has gone white, the scars on his face silvered with age, and even his right eye is starting to fail him. He keeps a candle on his bedside table, but in its muddy glow shadows twist and shiver, and the strain is too much. He closes his eyes.

He is very tired. He has done his best to watch the woods for the last twenty years, but he thinks that tonight it will end.

It is long past midnight when the bed dips with a new weight, and cold smoke settles over him like a burial shroud. “Jack.” Whispered like a benediction. A gentle finger trails over the scars on his face and eyes, and he hears a sharp intake of breath, followed by a choked off sound. “Oh,  _ Jack. _ ”

Jack smiles, sits up and reaches with questing hands to find Gabriel’s face. “I know.” His fingers find the familiar divots and grooves, map out the shape of his brow. His thumb brushes Gabriel’s lower lip, comes to rest at the corner of his mouth, and Jack finally opens his eyes. In the dim light of the candle, with his ruined sight, Gabriel’s face is a blur of dark skin, mottled gray. But his eyes are glowing bright and sharp, and a deep, deep red. There is an apology there, and behind that, the simmering burn of triumph. Years ago, this would have bothered Jack. Now he smiles again, and leans forward to press his lips against Gabriel’s. 

The other man surges down against him, pressing him back into his bed. Gabriel murmurs a thousand things into Jack’s scarred skin, mostly apologies, but promises too. Jack hums against his throat, hands dropping down to map out the rest of his body, already familiar under his touch. He thinks of his naivety from all those years ago, but Gabriel’s too--how he hadn’t thought Jack would burn up from the anger and spite.

He thinks now he knows what he wants.

Gabriel’s hands are heavy and cold as they drag themselves over his skin, learning all over again. Jack hisses at the cold, runs his own calloused hands up Gabriel’s throat, feels a soft fuzz where his curls used to be.

“Your hair,” he pants against Gabe’s mouth. 

“Shaved it.” The Reaper grunts, nipping at his lower lip. “Yours is white.” Spoken like an affronted accusation.

Jack laughs softly, moves his hands down to slip under Gabriel’s shirt and thumb at the waist of his pants. “I’m not so young anymore.” Above him, Gabriel stills, and when Jack looks up with his good eye, he can see the man watching him with a pained expression. “Gabe?”

He seems to shake himself, and smirks down at Jack. “It’s true. You look like an old man.” 

Jack chuckles. “Is it gonna be a problem?”

All humor seems to dissolve from Gabriel’s expression like smoke. “No.” He leans back down, hands cupping Jack’s face more tenderly than he ever had in their previous life. He kisses him hard, then, murmuring, “Never.”

They go slowly, learning each other all over again. It’s intoxicating and agonizing all at once, and Jack has missed this so, so much. Finally, when he can’t stand it any more, he takes them both in his hand and rocks into it with a sob. Above him, Gabriel’s breath hitches before he shudders and comes in hot streaks onto Jack’s chest. Jack moans, rocking once more before spilling over the edge with him.

As they lie panting in the dark, candle having burned out hours ago, Jack can feel the Reaper’s eyes on him. “What is it?”

“You loved me.” Stated quietly, but matter of factly.

Even at thirty-nine, Jack finds that the Reaper can still make him blush. Still, the years have given him some control, and so he wrestles with his emotions until he can say, softly, “Yes.”

Gabriel’s hand sweeps over his ruined left eye, cups his cheek. “It’s why you kept coming back.”

“Yes.” Jack raises his hand to Gabriel’s face, but flinches when he feels tears. He tries to sit up, but is pushed back down. “Gabe-”

“I’m sorry,” the Reaper whispers, pressing their foreheads together. “I couldn’t trust it. I couldn’t trust  _ you _ . But I loved you, too.”

Jack wraps his hand around the back of Gabriel’s neck. He presses their lips together and smiles. “I still do.”

Hours later, in the dim glow of the morning, they are curled into each other. Jack can feel the soft, wavering core that he’d aimed his rifle at all those years ago pulse gently at his back. The sun’s golden light begins to creep into the cabin. He sighs, a contented sound, palms Gabriel’s bare hip, presses his lips to cold fingers. “Let’s go.”

_ Stay out of the Northern Woods _ , it’s said.  _ There’re monsters that live in there. _

_ Fairy King _ ,  _ Der Erlkönig _ , and, whispered quieter for being true,  _ Reaper _ . And padding silently alongside, a great white wolf with a scarred muzzle and milky blue eyes, that can take the form of a man. Take care and love your children, it’s said. If you don’t, Reaper and his wolf will steal into your house at night and take your children away. And if you were cruel, and unloving, he will come back for you.

_ Reaper will do you grievous harm _ .

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Hold Me Like an Animal](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15501690) by [synteis_records (synteis)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/synteis/pseuds/synteis_records)




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